


what are the odds?

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Poetry, if you would be nice enough to call it that, it's kinda morbid tbh, trigger warnings for suicide and death, truth be told i got high and decided it would be a good idea to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis fears death, though as it turns out, he wasn't the one it was coming for after all</p>
            </blockquote>





	what are the odds?

**Author's Note:**

> verse oneshot (kinda sorta poetry)  
> oh well, thank you to anyone who reads it, i love you!

“life is a game of chance”  
louis mutters quietly  
“how many times can you roll snake eyes?  
pull a good hand?  
hit bull’s eye?”

harry gulps  
“louis baby  
you can’t think like that”  
he sees the dull pain  
that swims in the older boy’s eyes

“yahtzee? horse shoes?”  
louis can feel the world closing in around him  
it might as well  
his number could be pulled soon anyway  
“what are the odds, harry?”

harry feels louis’ morbidity creeping beneath his skin  
flooding his veins and tingling his nerves  
“the odds of you waking up tomorrow  
are far greater, louis,  
than the odds you’ll be dealt four-of-a-kind”

   
louis shakes his head  
louis knows a lot of things  
and he knows that harry is right  
that he is being foolish  
and that tomorrow will come without question

but then louis thinks about all the condoms that break  
and about how on average one in every 2.3 million planes crash  
and even about the percentage of marriages that fail  
perhaps louis isn’t being all that foolish  
perhaps life is more fragile than dice or playing cards

louis just shakes his head and harry pats the empty spot beside him on the bed  
and louis takes to tangling himself in the sheets  
their breaths are soft (there’s no time to be erratic)  
because louis knows a lot of things, and he knows that each is numbered  
and he is scared that he might run out before the sun rises

louis does live to see the sun come up for air  
and his chest rises and falls in time with the wind  
breaths and breezes that sweep through the cracked windows  
and louis, content with the endeavor of life, rolls over  
only to find his beautiful, breathless boy 

he shakes the still frame of harry  
violently trying to nudge the life back into him  
but all he sees are emerald eyes that roll into the back of his head  
and all he feels are cold hands draped over his middle  
both pulseless and unmoving

louis can feel his heart bleeding in the cavity of his chest  
he can hear his own heartbeat (the only one in the room), sounding in his ears  
but yet he isn’t frantic and he is no longer shaking  
because all along he wasn’t as naïve as the world took him for  
before that world took his boy

louis expected this, and was right to fear death  
because it creeps up on you and unsettles the game  
it’s the crooked dealer with all the jokers  
and it’s the magnetized dice that never roll a pair  
and this time the lucky number that it pulled belonged to harry

with the boneless body next to him  
louis decided that he no longer feared death  
seething with newfound anticipation  
louis culminated a plan  
a plan that would beat death at its own game 

for there are loopholes in this so called game of chance  
because you may have no control over how long your life can go on  
but you have all the control you’ll ever need to decide how short it can be  
and yes, maybe that’s cheating  
but if you ask louis, fair play is just a myth anyway

so louis screams for an answer from the gods and the demis (and everything in between)  
he wants to know the rules and what exactly the objective ever was  
but his throat grows warm and wet with each shout that rips its way out  
and his mouth begins to taste like rust and salt  
and louis spits cold, red, blood onto the back of his hand

louis tears the sheets up, right then and there  
twisting and knotting mercilessly  
his dry skin swiping against the fibers until his fingers are burnt  
and louis wraps his suicide concoction around his neck  
and he thinks that this is his new favourite accessory

louis pets harry’s curls one last time  
leans in and presses a kiss to his cold, cold lips  
and he lays back down, parallel to the shell of his boyfriend  
and finally louis tightens it  
and he feels his breath escape and doesn’t give it a way back in 

louis has always feared both odds and probability  
because “life is nothing but a game of chance”  
but that fear was relinquished (just like the life was from harry)  
on that very day  
when louis got his first hole-in-one

 

_fin_


End file.
